I received a copy of The Surrender in the mail yesterday . I ran over to the cafe across from the post office, where I do all my speed reading, and ordered a cocoa and peanut butter cookie while I checked out the “most talked-about anal sex memoir of the year.” I invite you to giggle like a twelve-year-old as you digest that proclamation, because I certainly have. There is something supremely silly about all the hype.
As I mentioned in a previous entry, Surrender has received remarkable reviews in prestigious periodicals, and is penned by a famous retired ballerina, Toni Bentley. It is impossible not to think of the author’s fame as you read her before-and-after anal diary. Her pretty portrait is blown up on the back cover, so there is no way you could avoid recognizing her if you you bumped into each other at the supermarket— you’d have every right to exclaim, “Heavens, aren’t you that lady that wrote the “buttfucking-is-next-to-godliness” book?”
Let me be blunt and get this out of the way: You can have incredible sex without sensing God or falling in love. You do not need romantic or spiritual experiences to justify your pleasure and relaxation. You can buttfuck and simply say, “Gosh, that was fun! Let’s do it again sometime!” You can have a delicious nap, a warm embrace, blow smoke rings, and carry on with your life without getting married or joining a cult. And in fact, this is what most people do.
The Surrender, however, is about a spiritual and romantic experience that revolves around anal sex. For that alone, I don’t fault her. But it raises the bar very high. My frustration comes from my awareness that mainstream publishing demands this kind of “higher, nobler cause” scenario when untraditional sex is involved. It’s become a cliché, and most authors are not up to the task of defeating the banal expectations.
You know what I’d love to see? Some chick lit book, some Bridget Jones/Carrie Bradshaw -type gal, who goes out on a date, and has really good anal sex— no pain, all orgasm. I’d like to see her resolve to add her newfound knowledge to her sexual repertoire, and leave it at that. She’d relish her moment of new erotic insight, but it wouldn’t be the central metaphor for everything that subsequently happened to her.
However, if “anal awakening” is the central plot to one’s story, you need to make the drama bigger. You have to reach Story of O heights, you have to reach for Georges Bataille, Jean Genet. And not to be too French about it, I’ll throw in Charles Bukowski. The Surrender doesn’t hit those notes.
Do you know what moved me more about anal sex than anything else I ever read? A personal letter I got from a girlfriend, Sammy, when I was in college. She was in love, writing about her new affair, glowing right off the page. Sammy and her guy had just had anal sex for the first time the night before, and she told me that “if everyone experienced buttfucking like I did last night, there is no doubt in my mind that we would have world peace.” She was deadly earnest, and I quite agreed with her! It was poignant, a letter between two good friends who could share a confidence.
It’s true that anal penetration does require deep relaxation, a leap over taboo and inhibition. It can inspire a feeling of great relief, fullness, and generosity. Surrender is literally sweet; it feels so good to give it up. Outside of sex and creativity, "giving it up" usually means humiliation. In anal sex, that experience gets turned on its head.
Any kind of sex can inspire feelings of great peace and ecstatic submission. You could achieve the same effect with cunnilingus. But anal penetration demands submission and reciprocation. If you don’t profoundly relax, it hurts like hell. With vaginal penetration, by comparison, a woman can go through the motions. If her hymen is no longer intact, she can pretend. It’s not fun to pretend, she’s not doing herself any favors, but it’s possible. Anal sex is more physically demanding; it’s hard to cheat.
This physical requirement has an effect on people’s emotional interaction, of course. If you’re holding yourself back a little, testing the waters— you’re probably not reaching for the the buttplug. Anal sex happens most often between partners who are already familiar with each other, or in the case of one night stands, lovers who have overwhelming chemistry .
What about people who are already experienced in anal intercourse? Do they keep up the same insatiable pace as these awakening stories? Actually, no. Unless anal sex is the only way you can come, you probably don’t do it every time you hit the mattress. You probably like variety, and sometimes you have questions like, “Do we have enough time?” or “Are our children going to be pounding on the door anytime soon?” You have to be in the mood. Sometimes just having your butt paid attention to, without going for the Full Cleveland, is perfectly satisfying. It’s also true that one can get bored or frustrated in any relationship, no matter what great bouncing bottom techniques they’ve perfected. It’s not a panacea, an ultimatum, or a prayer.
The Surrender’s greatest strength, then, is the audaciousness of the author’s honesty, in her public position. She is willing to be the anal sex go-to ballerina, and I admire her fearlessness.
But I fear for her publishing career. I fear for her because the only way she is going to survive in the prudery of the literary world, is if her writing is superb. And in this book, it just isn’t.
She has many lovers in her story, but only one character developed, herself. If you’re a fan of plot and character, you’ll be disappointed. It’s more like a list of realizations. I believe her words, but they don't sweep me away. I know it’s hard to write about spiritual and sexual awakenings— it’s actually more difficult than having them.
There’s lots of short little chapters throughout the book. This is all the vogue in literature right now— the new product for Americans’ short attention spans. It’s like everyone has ADD so you have to coddle them before they turn on their video game. That annoys me. She’s no Richard Brautigan. My god, I wish he’d lived long enough to write about anal sex in short chapters... now that would be a spirit-awakening, red letter day.
In short, if you are a literature fan, you’ll be disappointed in The Surrender. You’ll find yourself, like me, trying to think of who has written a truly great anal sex memoir that we could hold up as the definitive comparison. I’m still mulling it over, but I’m almost sure it won’t be authored by a woman. Maybe that’s the problem: women are just beginning to write about anal sex. Maybe we just need time.
Some of you porn dogs may ask, “But does it get you off?” Since I read it in a cafe with cookie crumbs falling on the pages, I perhaps am not the right person to ask. I certainly didn’t feel like I had to run to the lavatory for a few moments of private satisfaction, no. When she writes the sex scenes, they don’t build for very long; she cuts them off. There’s little bits and piece everywhere, but they don't sustain. By the time you finish, you’re in sort of a mild lather, like baby shampoo, but you need something else to take you up the mountain. I found that I kept drifting to my own memories, or that letter my girlfriend wrote me, which were more arousing.
The moral of this story is that anal drama needs a demanding editor. Ms. Bentley could have used an editor much like her favorite lover, who insisted on her submission. Someone who would say, “You HAVE to build character, you have to deepen and sustain these bedroom scenes— or I won’t let you come.” She could have met the challenge... she’s intelligent, sensitive, competent... but no one made her bend over her desk and really apply herself. If only someone had given me a call!
Now go ahead, I dare you: who has written the greatest anal sex ephiphany scenes of all time?
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